“They don’t need evidence. They need a narrative. And right now, the story they’re telling makes sense. Hiking trip. Coworkers. Jealousy. Just wait until everyone finds out it was your gun.”
I look at my wife like I don’t even know her because it feels like I don’t right now. “Do you hear yourself? Jealousy? Jealous of what exactly, Jamie? Bryan and I had the same exact job at the same company.”
“I don’t know how many times I’ve heard you complain that your boss always gives him preferential treatment at the office. I doubt I’m the only person you’ve ever said that to, so all theyhave to do is find one other person who will say they heard you say those things about him.”
Frustrated, I try to keep my calm, but I want to scream. She can’t even support me in the tiniest way.
“You don’t believe me, do you? I thought of all people you’d know I’m innocent of this. I thought I could at least count on you being on my side.”
That makes her expression soften, and she sighs like she’s got the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Iamon your side. I’m onourside. But I need to know the truth, Connor. Because if it comes out in court, in public, and I’ve been lying to our girls…”
“You want the truth? Then here it is. I didn’t kill him. I was his friend. We worked together. I wish I hadn’t agreed to go hiking with him that day. I wish I hadn’t gone at all. I wish I hadn’t taken the gun with me. I wish I’d stopped him when he took the gun out of my hand. I wish I’d done something different. Everything different. But I didn’t kill him.”
I stop, take a deep breath, and then say, “Just tell me you believe me. Tell me you’re with me on this.”
Jamie is silent for a long time, but I don’t leave. I need to hear her say she’s with me on this. We’ve never been tested in this way before in our marriage. I’ve heard every couple is severely tested at least once in their years together. Well, this is it, and there’s only one answer to give me.
Finally, she says in quiet voice, “I’m your wife, Connor. I’m with you. I just need you to know I have to protect the girls too.”
I don’t say anything to that because that sounds a lot like she’s not standing with me. I consider saying I want to protect the girls too, but the truth is I have to think of myself now.
If I don’t, then there may not be an us after the police are done.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jamie
I don’t knowwhat to do. I love my husband and want to support him in his time of need, but what am I going to do to protect our daughters? They’re the ones who will suffer most from these horrible rumors about their father.
Connor paces through the living room, so I walk upstairs to our bedroom. I can’t stand it when he’s like this. My husband doesn’t do well with stress. It turns him into a man I barely recognize, and I know if I stay downstairs that we’ll end up having a fight.
When I reach the top of the stairs, my gaze is drawn to the girls’ rooms. I make my way to Cassandra’s room, which is right next to ours, and smile at the pink walls she absolutely had to have. We spent two weeks picking out the exact shade she wanted, going to three home improvement stores before we found one that had the perfect color of pale pink. She, Danielle, and I spent a weekend painting her room, and when we finished, I was so proud of my daughters.
My mind drifts back to the moment we moved all her furniture back in and began to hang her posters on the walls. She couldn’t wait for me to hang her shelf so she could display her first medal from gymnastics. Cassandra fussed over that gold disk for nearly twenty minutes before stepping back and proudly showing me how great it looked in the middle of the shelf. Ever since, whenever she wins or places in the top three at any meet, she carefully places her prize on her special shelf.
As soon as Danielle saw her sister had a beautiful, new pink room, she had to have hers painted. A different child from her older sister, my second daughter wanted a purple room. Danielle has always been more regal than Cassandra, so that color fit her perfectly. Again, it took a while for us to find the exact shade she loved, but once she settled on a beautiful lilac color, she couldn’t wait to paint her room. Just as we did with her sister’s room, the three of us spent a weekend making her room perfect for her. And like her sister, she too had to have a shelf for her awards.
As I stand in the doorway of Cassandra’s room looking at that shelf full of her achievements, I can’t imagine telling them the sport they love and do so well at is going to have to cease to be a part of their lives. How can I do that to them?
I think that and know I can’t. I won’t betray them like that. They do their best every day at practice and at every meet. The least I can do is make sure they can continue to enjoy gymnastics.
God, how did our lives turn into this? Just a week ago, my girls were the stars of their team, and I was one of the mothers who knew she didn’t have to hover at every practice to ensure they’d get their chance. Now people are whispering behind our backs, and Connor may be arrested soon for murder.
My worry makes my stress level inch up, and I know I can’t stay in this house. I need to get out and get some fresh air for a while. I don’t have to pick up the girls from school for a fewhours, so I have a little time to compose myself before I have to see them again.
Where can I go, though? I don’t want to run into anyone from the community or any of the mothers from gymnastics, so all my usual places are out. Even thinking that makes my stomach twist into a knot.
Now I’m avoiding going to spots I love.
Worry morphs into anger, and I spin on my heel to storm back down the stairs. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing, but I have to get out of here.
As I march through the living room, Connor stops pacing and asks, “Where are you going?”
I don’t look at him, focused on just getting the hell out of my own house. “I don’t know. I’ll be back later.”
And with that, I leave him standing next to that ugly chair he loves likely wondering why I’m not staying home. I may run into some ugly looks and whispers from people, but I can’t stay cooped up today.
I avoid looking at any of the houses around mine as I head to my car, unable to face the stares from neighbors I’ve had at my house for parties and barbeques on holidays. Slamming the driver’s side door, I sit staring at the pale green garage door for a long time as I try to figure out where I can go.
